


A Little Bit of Hope

by seibelsays



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Darcy Lewis Bingo 2020, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Marvel Fluff Bingo 2021, Subways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:29:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29932764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seibelsays/pseuds/seibelsays
Summary: Bucky never meant to make the 10:20AM Bronx-bound D train part of his routine.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis
Comments: 57
Kudos: 227
Collections: Marvel Fluff Bingo





	A Little Bit of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> For my Marvel Fluff Bingo square "Commuter AU" and my Darcy Lewis Bingo square "Darcy x Bucky."

_And who wants to fall in love_  
_All the cynics stand up_  
_And we'll both lie down right here on this floor_  
_It never seems to be enough_  
_You couldn't make this shit up_  
_Looks like it's one of those things that just can't be ignored_  
\- The Coronas, “LA At Night”

Bucky stood at the subway entrance, shuffling through the mess of cards again as he subtly counted people passing through the gate. To the casual observer, he was simply going through his wallet, looking for his transit card. In reality, he was gauging how busy the trains were, conducting surveillance for his own peace of mind before attempting to enter the station. There were a few more people going through the turnstiles than he might have preferred, but it was late. The last trains of the night would come and go soon and if he was going to do this, he needed to do it now. 

He took a deep breath to steel himself, then made his way into the entrance. He swiped his transit card at the gate, then proceeded through the turnstile. A glance up at the signs overhead pointed him in the direction of the train he wanted and with another bracing breath, he made his way to the platform.

It was quiet this time of night, with only a few other people waiting for the train. The station was quiet as they waited, only the garbled echo of station announcements cutting through the distant rumble of the trains as they moved along their tracks. The quiet made the wait feel almost endless, as though time didn’t really exist down here. He could see the appeal of headphones and why so many people used them, even if the thought of not being able to hear a potential threat around him made him sweat.

He glanced at his phone for the time and winced. Time might still exist, but cell service didn’t. 

Finally, the train rumbled and screeched into the station. With a _ping_ , the doors opened and allowed a few commuters out, then the others on the platform entered the train. The car immediately in front of him was empty, save one person. He could handle that.

He took one step forward, then stopped, panic gripping his chest. He closed his eyes briefly.

_One stop. You just have to get on the train and go one stop._

He opened his eyes again ready to get on the train but his feet wouldn’t budge. Mentally growling at himself, he summoned all of his willpower to just move already and get on the damn train. The doors were about to close. If he was going to do this, he needed to do it now. 

_Ping. Ping. Ping._

The doors of the train slid closed and the train pulled away, leaving him alone on the platform.

He sighed as he watched the train pull away. Maybe he would try again tomorrow.

* * *

Bucky swiped his transit card with determination and strode forward into the turnstile. He was abruptly stopped by the gate, which hadn’t opened. He glared down at it. There was plenty of money on his card, why the hell hadn’t - 

_CARD READ ERROR_

Bucky rolled his eyes and swiped the card again.

_CARD READ ERROR_

“Tourist,” a voice spat behind him, as the rude commuter whipped around to the next gate and breezed through with a single swipe of his card.

It wasn’t often that Bucky allowed his mind to run away on a murderous fantasy, counting the ways he could kill a man with only the contents of his pockets and make it look like an accident. He made an exception for this guy. He indulged in one brief, glorious revenge fantasy as he slowly swiped his card one more time. The gate finally slid open and he stepped through, moving quickly through the station to get to the platform. He missed one train by mere moments and he cursed the shoddy card readers upstairs once again. He wished for the days when he just dropped a coin in and went on with his day.

Well. That wasn’t really true either.

At least the platform wasn’t very crowded. It was far earlier in the day than the last time he’d tried this, but it wasn’t rush hour. There were maybe a few more people around than he’d prefer, but he’d been putting this off for long enough. He _wanted_ to be able to get onto a train and not think twice about it. He’d never be able to do that unless he put in the work now.

Finally, another train rumbled into the station. The doors slid open and a wave of people exited the cars. Bucky bounced lightly on the balls of his feet as he waited for the crowd to clear. Before he could talk himself out of it, he shoved his gloved hands into his pockets and moved forward, entering the train car immediately in front of him.

There were plenty of seats available, so Bucky helped himself. He folded himself into an end seat near the door and tried to quiet all the instincts that screamed various tactical information at him. This wasn’t an op. For all intents and purposes, he was a civilian, at least for today. 

He looked around the car as the train started moving. He counted eight other people in the car, but quickly averted his eyes before he could catalogue any additional details. The sound of the train moving echoed through his mind and it was all he could do to not be thrown back in time. He felt cold, as though the wind and snow from a Austrian mountaintop had somehow chased him through time and space to haunt him here.

He needed something to focus on, to distract him. He looked up, hoping for something - anything - to read. But the advertisements were poorly designed and neither captured his interest nor were informative enough to communicate to him what they were advertising. 

His eyes finally landed on the commuter across from him. Or, more specifically, the knitting in her hands. He watched as she deftly moved her needles, weaving two different colors of yarn into her pattern. She wasn’t far enough along for him to tell what exactly she was working on. It could be a scarf or maybe part of a blanket. Maybe it was a hat that she was knitting flat and would sew up later. 

Her hands slowed and finally stopped. He flicked his eyes up to find bright blue eyes staring back at him from behind cheap black plastic frames. She watched him for a moment, then returned her attention to her knitting. He forced himself to look away, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. But by the time the next stop was announced, he found his eyes drifting back to her again. He clocked the moment she realized he was watching her, the almost imperceptible freeze in her movements that he would have missed had he not been looking for it.

He didn’t blame her. He was a scary guy, he knew that. And even if he weren’t, she would be stupid not to be at least a little on guard in the city. He forced himself to look away again, his eyes finally landing on the map overhead. He watched as the little blinking light moved, indicating the next station. 

The train slowed to a stop and more people boarded, enough to require a few commuters to stand in the aisle, mostly blocking his view of the knitting woman. He dared look her way once more, hoping he could watch her for a few more stitches at least before he made her nervous again. Instead, he found those blue eyes staring back at him. Her apprehensive expression suddenly flickered into a ghost of a smile and she returned her attention to her work. 

He wondered what she could possibly be thinking of. She certainly wasn’t smiling at him.

The entire notion made him uncomfortable, which was ridiculous. She was just some stranger on this train. Soon enough, one of them would exit the train and they would never see each other again.

She had no reason to smile at him. He had no reason to have feelings about it.

Nevertheless, when the train reached the next station, he’s not sure if there was a power on this earth that could have kept him from bolting for the door.

* * *

Abrupt departure aside, the last trip on the subway had been a relative success. He decided to stick with the train line and time of day for a little while, just to see if he could push his limits on how long he could stand to be on the train. Once he was comfortable, he could change trains or try busier stations or even make an attempt at rush hour. The point was to continue pushing his limits and never, ever become predictable. Being predictable was just asking for trouble.

He hung his head and closed his eyes briefly. _That_ was the sort of thought he needed to quell. That was partially the point of this. He wasn’t an asset anymore, these weren’t ops, and as far as anyone at SHIELD or SWORD or Asgard itself could tell, no one was hunting him anymore. 

He was just...trying to live a life. However he could cobble that together.

The train rumbled into the station and Bucky straightened up. He didn’t feel the panic rise in his chest this time which he took as a good sign - he was already making progress. He stepped onto the train and jolted to a surprised halt, causing a few annoyed mutters behind him. He quickly moved again, slipping further onto the train and grabbing a seat. 

The source of his surprise was sitting right across from him. Somehow, someway, the knitting woman was on this train again. She’d made progress on her project in the few days since he’d seen her last and if Bucky were to guess, she was definitely making a hat. He quickly looked away, not wanting to annoy her again. Instead, he shrank into his coat, ducking into the wool and shoving his hands further into his pockets. The wind he’d faced on the walk from his apartment to the subway entrance had seeped into his bones and he cuddled into himself for warmth.

The doors slid open at the next stop. A woman clearly not dressed for the cold weather stepped on board and began walking towards the front of the car, holding a trembling hand out and quietly asking if anyone could spare some change. Most commuters outright ignored the woman.

Bucky couldn’t. He’d been in a similar position often enough and knew the value of kindness. So he silently reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill. He didn’t even look at the denomination, just handed to her as she passed. She nodded her thanks and moved on.

“You shouldn’t encourage that,” scoffed a well-dressed man, who was practically standing over Bucky. Bucky slowly raised his eyes to the man and counted 6 different ways to strangle him with the scarf around his neck. He glowered slightly, but otherwise did not acknowledge the man had spoken.

“Pipe down, Scrooge McDuck, no one was talking to you.”

Bucky looked across the aisle in surprise. The unexpected defence came from the woman across from him, who hadn’t even bothered to look up from her knitting to scold the arrogant man. Bucky felt himself smile a little at her brash response.

The train slowed to a stop again. The arrogant man scoffed and turned to exit. 

“Soft hearted fools,” the man muttered.

“I hope you have the day you deserve!” the woman called after him as the door closed again. She lowered her voice to a mutter as the train moved on. “With a perpetually full bladder at inconvenient moments.”

A snort of laughter escaped him at her comment. She smiled at him, then returned her focus to her knitting as the train moved on.

* * *

Bucky never meant to make the 10:20AM Bronx-bound D train part of his routine. He never counted people entering the station anymore and he stopped struggling with the card reader weeks ago. He hadn’t felt a whiff of panic in ages. He had done what he’d set out to do and conquered the subway. 

And yet, every morning, he was on that train. No matter what. He was going on three months now and it was all her fault.

He’d watched her move from project to project, always finishing one before starting another. He loved watching her movements as she deftly worked her needles, weaving beautiful creations out of her seemingly endless supply of yarn. He loved trying to guess what she was making or what colors she might try next. She was a fast knitter, moving through small projects at a quick and steady pace. He never saw her wearing any of her own creations though - for all of the knit hats and scarves and fingerless mittens he’d seen her wear, once she completed a project, he never saw it again. He didn’t know if she gave them away as gifts or if she sold them. He never worked up the courage to ask.

And that was part of the problem. Three months in and he’d never spoken a word to her.

The train rumbled into the station and came to a stop, the doors sliding open as always. Bucky moved with the small crowd, entering the car and taking up his customary seat across from the knitting woman. As always, she glanced up, gave him a small, brief smile of recognition, then returned her attention to her work.

He really wished he knew her name.

Maybe one day, he would actually get the courage to ask.

But probably not. Who the hell was he, anyway? He was just some guy who was working through his anxiety by taking endless, pointless rides on the subway.

* * *

Bucky wasn’t completely stupid. He knew that routines meant being predictable and being predictable meant death. Just because there wasn’t anyone _currently_ after him, just because they didn’t _know_ about it, didn’t mean that it would never happen again. The Winter Soldier was a highly coveted prize, after all. The world wasn’t likely to forget him for long.

Since changing which train he got on wasn’t an option and changing his originating station would just be a pain in the ass, Bucky tried to switch up the stop he exited from every few days. Some days he would only ride the train for a few stops. Others, he’d go all the way out to 205th Street. Sometimes he would transfer trains, riding in circles all day until he was tired enough to go home.

They’d been riding the same train for long enough now that Bucky knew his knitter always exited at 81st Street. He wondered where she went. He wondered if he’d ever get the courage to ask. He could follow her, sure. She would never know. But he didn’t want to learn about her through subterfuge or tradecraft. It felt like cheating.

He knew she noticed his exits. The days when he got off the train before her, he could always feel her eyes follow him. It had to look strange - who got on the same train at the same time every day if they weren’t always going to the same place?

But she never said anything either. Their only interaction was that one brief smile every morning as he entered the train. 

It should be inconsequential. For anyone else, it _would_ be. No one else would ever even think of it after the moment had passed. He was certain that his knitter - for she was certainly now _his knitter_ , if only in his own mind - never thought of him outside of her brief recognition every morning.

But for Bucky, it was the best part of his entire damn day.

* * *

Bucky wrung out his hat and scowled at the water that dripped onto his shoes. The sudden downpour caught him unprepared, and he’d gotten completely drenched on his way to the station. He was dripping and miserable and really just wanted to go home, throw the covers over his head, and call it a day.

Missing the train and doing just that never crossed his mind.

He stepped onto the train and glanced towards his knitter’s customary seat. She looked up like always, her smile of greeting at the ready. It quickly slipped from her face as her eyes widened in alarm at his appearance. She glanced around at the other commuters getting on the train, all in varying states of dryness. Finally, she looked back at him as he took his seat. He shrugged at her unspoken question, the most direct interaction they’d ever had. 

“Hope you all brought umbrellas,” a man grumbled as he shook the water from his jacket, not realizing or caring that he was soaking everyone around him with rainwater.

She grimaced at the man, shying away from the water flying everywhere, then looked back at Bucky. He was too annoyed and too tired though. He shook his head as he attempted to reshape his hat, his poor attempts at wringing the water from it having mangled it. Finally, he gave up and jammed it back onto his head, hoping it would at least help to keep his wet hair out of his face. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, wondering if he should just get off at the next stop or ride in circles for a while to wait out the storm. He shivered a little, his wet clothes quickly chilling in the cool air of the air conditioned car, and he figured he would probably be exiting sooner rather than later.

His weariness won out however, and one stop after another passed without him moving a muscle. He counted them, sort of, as he blocked out his misery and allowed his mind to drift. The cold seeped into his bones, making him ache, and he did his best to ignore the all-too familiar feeling. Part of him wanted to open his eyes, finally speak to his knitter, and let her chase away his misery. He couldn’t put that on someone else though - his happiness was his own responsibility, and his mood was dark enough he would be poor company anyway. That wasn’t the first impression he wanted her to have of him.

So he kept his eyes closed and mouth shut as the train rumbled on. He must have dozed off entirely at some point, because the next thing he knew he was jolted awake by a swift, if gentle, tap on his foot. His eyes flew open and he saw his knitter had packed up her things and was standing, waiting for the train to pull into her station.

“I hope you haven’t missed your stop today,” she said. “I tried to wake you earlier, but you kinda weren’t having it.” He blinked at her and looked around, playing the part, even if he already knew that she always exited at 81st street and he had no particular stop in mind. 

“Here,” she said, holding out a knitted navy blue hat. “I finished it today and you look like you could use a dry one.”

He blinked at her again, the words dying in his throat as he silently accepted the gift. 

She smiled as the doors opened. “Wish me luck!” 

And then she was gone.

He watched her go, staring after her until she disappeared up the stairs and back into the city. He looked down at the hat, confused at and touched by her kind gesture. A soft chuckle from beside him snapped him out of his daze.

“Women,” the old man sitting next to him said, with the air of someone who’d lived and loved enough to know what he was talking about. “They always have a way of walloping us over the head, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, his voice quiet and raspy. “Yeah.”

* * *

The hat was in his pocket the next morning, despite the fact that the weather called for scorching heat and humidity. He brushed his fingers against it, willing the soft fibers to grant him courage to actually talk to his knitter today. At the very least to thank her, to ask if she got where she had been going OK. Maybe those sentences could lead to others. Maybe they could talk for her entire commute, if she was willing. But if she wasn’t that would be okay too.

He heard a rumble echo through the tunnels and he straightened up, preparing to get on the train. The train slowed to a stop and the doors slid open. Bucky waited for a few passengers to exit, then stepped aboard, his eyes immediately going to his knitter’s customary seat.

Which was empty. 

He frowned, then stepped back off the train, quickly counting the cars. If this was the right car, then where - 

“She’s not here today, son,” the old man called.

“Oh,” Bucky said, stepping back onto the train and slumping into his usual seat, his motions practically on autopilot. If she wasn’t here and he didn’t really have anywhere to go, there wasn’t much point in riding the train today. He stared at the empty seat across from him, then reached into his pocket and brushed his fingers against the hat. 

The old man leaned forward a little, resting his weight on his cane as he peered around the standing supports to get a good look at Bucky. “You’ll catch her tomorrow,” he said. The man’s gravely voice was confident, as though no other possibility existed. That tomorrow would come and his knitter would be here and the world would right itself again.

Bucky knew it was _possible_. That maybe she had an appointment or wasn’t feeling well or had taken a day off from wherever it was she went every day. Maybe she was on a vacation or a business trip or taking soup to a friend under the weather. 

Maybe he would see her tomorrow.

* * *

But he didn’t. She wasn’t on the train the next day or the next. Every day he got on the train and she wasn’t there, he felt the hope die in his chest a little more. After two weeks, he was ready to give up entirely.

This was never meant to be a permanent thing. He had only ever wanted to get used to riding the subway again, to be around people in an environment he couldn’t control. And he’d done that! He barely even thought about it now, the action as commonplace as anything else. 

Maybe their moment had come and gone and he’d missed it, just like the train that first day. Maybe this was his sign from the universe that it was time to move on. 

He slid the transit card back into his wallet with a sigh and turned away from the gate, almost bumping into the woman attempting to enter behind him. 

“Sorry,” he muttered as he quickly moved out of her way. He fought against the small throng of people who were bustling towards the gate, hoping to make the next train. He stepped out into the sunshine and moved to the side, almost the exact spot where he’d conducted his surveillance all those months ago when he’d started his. He closed his eyes and lifted his face towards the sky, letting the sun warm his face for a moment. 

“Oh thank god, I thought I’d missed you!”

Bucky opened his eyes and found his knitter standing in front of him, two cups of coffee in hand. She held one out to him.

“Sorry. I knew this was your stop, but it’s not my neighborhood so first I had to find a coffee shop. I tried to get here earlier but then the line was really long, and it’s been two weeks so I had no idea if maybe you’d started taking another train or something and I wanted to...well...um.” She flushed a pretty pink as she stammered a bit. “You do drink coffee, right?”

He nodded. She held out a cup again and this time he took it. 

He looked down at the cup. His training told him that he shouldn’t take it, that he didn’t actually know this person, that she could be a threat. The coffee could be drugged or poisoned, she could be trying to capture or kill him. He counted it a win that those instincts were quiet reminders in the back of his mind now, instead of the thunderous screams they’d once been.

He looked back to her tentative smile and his decision was made. “I drink coffee.” And to prove it, he lifted the cup to his lips and took a long sip. He’d grown accustomed to black coffee over the years, even if it wasn’t his preference. But he’d drink it however it came, if it came from her.

She motioned to the station. “I think we missed the train.”

He shrugged. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Me either.”

He felt his brow furrow a little in confusion. “Then why were you on the train every day?”

Her smile turned a little wry. He liked it far more than he probably had any right to. “School. Doctorate, specifically. I just finished.”

“Two weeks ago,” he added, finally understanding.

She nodded. “The day I gave you the hat? I was on my way to defend my dissertation.”

“So when you asked me to wish you luck…”

“Wasn’t just for the rain. It worked, by the way. The rain had cleared and I got through my defense with no problems. So thank you.”

Bucky shook his head. “I didn’t do anything,” he muttered.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Having a cute guy to look at instead of melting into a puddle of anxiety every day certainly helped.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that, so he just sipped his coffee instead. She smiled again and reached out a hand. 

“I’m Darcy.”

He gasped her hand in his. “Bucky.”

Her smile grew and she gave his hand a squeeze, refusing to let go. “It’s nice to finally meet you properly, Bucky.”

“You too.”

He motioned with his cup to the tables set up outside the station entrance. “Sit with me for a bit?” he asked, daring to be hopeful as he traced a line with his thumb across the back of her hand.

She smiled. “I’d like that.”

They chose a table still somewhat in the shade and settled in with their coffee. She still hadn’t released his hand, grasping it now from across the table. He liked the way it felt. The way it made him feel. 

“So you finished school two weeks ago,” he said. “Congratulations, by the way.” He didn’t just want to come right out and ask where she’d been - he didn’t have any right to that knowledge, and it wasn’t like she owed him an appearance on the train every day. But still, he was curious.

She nodded. “Thanks. I finished and then I got a phone call from a friend who wound up in New Jersey with no idea how she got there and it was like the whole damn world was ending.” Her smile turned knowing. “Otherwise, we could have been having our coffee date two weeks ago.”

Bucky froze briefly before he snapped his eyes to hers. Her confident smile faltered briefly when he didn’t say anything.

“Right?” she asked. “I’m not misreading this, am I? Or have I been living in a complete fantasy for a while now?”

Bucky shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “You’re not.”

“Good. I didn’t think I was that far off, but you worried me for a minute.”

“I just don’t know why you’d bother.”

Darcy gave him a critical look as she considered his statement. She didn’t immediately try to fluff him off or appease him. She took a moment to consider his words and her response to them. He appreciated that.

Finally, she squeezed his hand. “That’s what the coffee date is for. We’re finding out if this is worth pursuing.”

He huffed out a laugh as he released the breath he was holding. “How am I doing so far?”

Darcy’s smile was knowing and enigmatic and oh so, so tempting. “Preliminary results look promising.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. There’s definite potential here. I can see myself penciling you in as my next heartbreak.”

Even if she was joking, even if it was meant in a lighthearted, self-deprecating way, Bucky hated the idea. It was absurd, really. He didn’t know her. He could walk away right this second and she would probably barely spare a thought for him ever again.

But some things just couldn’t be ignored. And right now one of those things was the idea that Darcy wasn’t just some person he met on the subway. Darcy was important, he could feel it. He just had to make sure she knew it too.

“And if I don’t want to be your next heartbreak?” he asked, tentatively.

Darcy tilted her head as her eyes lit up in surprised delight. “What would you be, if not my heartbreak?”

He steeled himself, taking a deep breath as he chose his words carefully. “The future.”

A slow smile spread across Darcy’s face. “That’s a hell of a pick up line, friend. I like it.”

He shook his head, relieved that his gambit didn’t result in her running away screaming. “It’s not a line if it’s true.”

“No, it’s still a line.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “If you’re going to be my future, it’s probably best if we don’t rely on randomly finding ourselves on the same train, right? Especially seeing as how I’m not running to the university on a daily basis anymore.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“You should have my number. The coffee date has gone well enough, I think you can graduate to dinner.”

“And after dinner?”

Darcy’s shrug was just a bit coy and completely adorable. He was in so much trouble already and he didn’t even care. 

“We’ll find out, won’t we?”

He stood and gently tugged on her hand to pull her to her feet. He tossed his empty coffee cup in the nearest trash can, then turned to face Darcy. 

“I didn’t have anything else planned for today,” he said.

Darcy raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

He nodded. “So I was wondering if maybe you’d like to take a walk with me?”

“Where to?”

He vaguely gestured uptown without taking his eyes off Darcy. “That way.”

“So specific.”

“I’m sure there’s a yarn shop or two that way, we’ll be fine.”

Darcy considered this. “How about a bookstore? I’ve always wanted to go on a date to a bookstore.”

“Done.”

Darcy’s smile was blinding. “Bucky, I’m starting to think that this whole ‘you’re my future’ idea of yours might just work out.”

Bucky smiled back. “I’m counting on it.”


End file.
